


Kneeling Before the King

by skarlatha



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, And Some Fluffiness, Awkward Conversations, Bottom!Rick but I see them as being versatile in the future, But then don't we all, Daryl Misses Rick's Beard, First Kiss, First Time, Gratuitous Smut, I Mean There's Plot Sort Of?, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Stress Relief, a smidgen of plot, but mostly blowjobs, not exactly pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-26 12:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3851569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha/pseuds/skarlatha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl has noticed that Rick is very stressed out since arriving in the ASZ. He decides that the best course of action is to get Rick laid. And if nobody agrees to sleep with Rick for the good of the order, then well, he'll just have to do it himself. As a public service. NOT because he wants to. Absolutely not. Noooo. *shifty eyes*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Good of the Many

**Author's Note:**

> Set immediately after s05e13 “Forget,” so spoilers up to and including that episode. No HUGE spoilers, especially if you know what the ASZ is, but spoilers nonetheless. 
> 
> Shout-out to my beta, [Michelle_A_Emerlind](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle_A_Emerlind), and to [TWDObsessive](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TWDObsessive) who talked to me about this idea and started promoting this fic even before reading it. They both also provided much-needed “no, this is good, you should post it” pep talks without which I would still be cowering under a table wringing my hands. You guys rock. Also, you should go read their stuff.

Daryl takes a deep breath, straightens his shirt, licks his lips, rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, and counts to six before pushing open the door to Rick’s house--the family’s house--in Alexandria. The only people inside are Rick and Judith, and Daryl has timed this so that he knows Judy will be upstairs taking her afternoon nap and therefore out of the way. Everybody else is off doing other things--Daryl made sure of that too--and he figures he’s got about half an hour before anybody comes back. Aaron had said that it would probably only take about ten minutes, fifteen tops, but with how on edge Rick has been lately it might take a lot less than that. So half an hour should be fine.

 _You got this, Dixon_ , Daryl thinks to himself, nodding firmly along with his mental statement and letting out a little grunt of self-encouragement. He locks the door behind himself and goes to find Rick, who’s standing in the living room running his fingers across the spines of books on the shelf there.

Daryl _could_ take a moment to admire the man, the way the forest-green t-shirt he’s wearing stretches over his shoulder blades just so, the slim hips with the nicely curved ass, the way Rick’s arm muscles flex as he moves his hand over the books. He _could_ do that, but he doesn’t. There’s no time for that, and admiring Rick makes this something it’s not.

Well. Something it can’t be. Something Daryl hasn’t really bothered to think that much about because it’s not like it’s ever going to happen. Not with Rick being… the way he is. Straight. Oblivious. Fuckin’ shallow, apparently, with the way Daryl’s noticed Rick staring at that blonde chick and pining after her even though he’s only talked to her maybe twice.

But then again, that’s why Daryl’s here. To put a stop to that nonsense.

Daryl coughs pointedly, and Rick turns around and smiles at him. “Daryl, hey.”

Daryl just grunts in response, then drops his leather jacket off his shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. He strides across the room using the biggest steps he can summon and grabs Rick’s arm, then drags him over to the couch and shoves the other man down on it.

“Daryl, what--”

Daryl drops to his knees in front of Rick and nudges the other man’s legs apart, knee-walking forward so that he’s between them. He doesn’t meet Rick’s eyes, just starts working on the man’s belt, sliding the leather out of the buckle and then giving the whole thing a firm yank, whipping it out of Rick’s belt loops and letting go of it in mid-swing so that it flies across the room. Dimly, he hears the buckle hit the opposite wall with a dull _thud_ , but he’s too busy rubbing Rick’s balls through his pants with the palm of one hand while using the other one to unfasten the man’s khakis to really give a shit.

Rick lets out a hiss of--pleasure? Probably pleasure. Hopefully pleasure--through his teeth as Daryl pulls him out. Rick’s cock isn’t hard yet but it’s stirring, filling, starting to strain in Daryl’s hand, and Rick’s breath is fast and Daryl can practically feel his racing pulse in the vein running up the underside of the man’s shaft.

“Daryl…” Rick says again, but this time he trails off instead of cutting his words off sharply.

“Just relax,” Daryl mumbles, and he lowers his head and sucks Rick in.

//

 _Earlier That Day_ \- _6:00 a.m._

Daryl’s already awake when Rick leaves the house, dressed in his constable uniform with a frown on his face. Rick's clean-shaven skin shines in the early morning sunlight and Daryl hates it, misses the facial hair that he'd gotten so used to seeing out on the road. Maybe not so much the full-on beard--although it had made the man look like some kind of ancient pagan forest god, which had been really very confusing for Daryl--but at least the stubble, the rough face that Rick had had at the prison. Rick looks smaller now, domesticated somehow, and Daryl wants him back wild, primal.

But not _violent_ , not unpredictable. Definitely not unstable and distracted like he had been ever since his haircut, ever since _her_. And Daryl doesn't really care that much about sex himself--oh, he's _had_ it, enjoyed it, even misses it sometimes, but not with the level of tension that some others in the group seem to have--but he can understand the need for release as well as the next man. It happens. The trick is to take care of it in a sensible way. Which is to say, to get off with one's own hand or with a willing partner. Not by stalking some hairstylist when she's already tried to let Rick down easy.

And here Rick is, standing on the porch and staring sort of creepily in the direction of Jessie’s house, a full tent in his uniform slacks that makes Daryl want to punch something.

“Mornin’, Constable,” Daryl says, and Rick jumps like a Walker has charged out of the bushes.

“Holy shit, Daryl, I didn’t see you there.” Rick lifts a hand to his chest like he’s trying to physically make his heartbeat slow down.

Daryl grunts, looking down at the painted wood of the porch. “Been here all night,” he says, then motions in the general direction of Rick’s _other_ python. “You gonna take care of that before you leave?”

Rick looks down at himself and flushes. Yet another reason why he should have kept the beard, Daryl thinks, but he’s not Rick’s little housewife and so he doesn’t exactly have a say in that. After a second, Rick frowns and stares back out in the direction of Jessie’s house. “It’ll go down on its own,” he mumbles. “Usual methods haven’t been working lately.”

The bastard licks his lips and lets out a hard breath. “Gotta get to work,” he says, and he leaves Daryl sitting on the porch wondering why the hell he’d thought it was a good idea to suggest that their fearless leader might need to rub one out.

//

_8:30 a.m._

Daryl’s been following Rick around surreptitiously since the constable started his shift, and he’s not liking what he’s seeing. Rick is on edge, aggressive, and Daryl has seen the man’s hand twitch for his gun just a _little_ too quickly more than once. And that’s not just being suspicious or over-cautious or whatever Rick is calling it. No, it’s an overabundance of some shitty testosterone/adrenaline cocktail running through Rick’s veins. All energy and nowhere to put it. Merle got like this sometimes, in the old world and in this one, and Daryl knows how to recognize it.

Daryl also knows that when Merle got like this, that was usually when he’d bring home a hooker or a bar floozy. And that the next morning, everything was right as rain. So that means only one thing: he’s got to get Rick laid. And not with the hairdresser. Too many problems with that one: too soft, too weak, too married. Not family enough, not yet. And Daryl could overlook most of that if he thought she wanted Rick too, but the burning looks Rick kept shooting her were either mostly or entirely one-sided. Daryl knows what that looks like, and that’s what’s going on here.

But Daryl’s been a pretty decent wingman in the past, helping Merle pick up chicks when his brother got a little too lonely, and surely game is like riding a bike. Daryl might still have it, even though it’s been a while since he’s practiced it. He can find a girl for Rick to fuck. He’s just got to do it quick, before shit goes down that isn’t good for the group.

Daryl nods to himself and goes off to find Carol.

//

_10:15 a.m._

Carol blinks at Daryl, letting the spoon she’s using to stir batter fall into the bowl. “What?”

“Need you to fuck Rick,” Daryl says. He reaches out a finger to swipe some batter and Carol slaps his hand.

“You need me to…” Carol repeats, trailing off and looking very confused indeed.

“Fuck. Rick.” Daryl crosses his arms over his chest and glares at her.

“What do you mean?” she asks him, her brow knitted as she meets his gaze with pursed lips.

Daryl rolls his eyes and huffs. “Mean I need you to fuck Rick. Ain’t sure how to say it any clearer’n that.”

She stares at him for a few more seconds. “Why?”

“‘Cause he’s gonna need to fuck somebody ‘fore long and if it ain’t you it might be that blonde chick,” Daryl says, hating that he has to explain himself. “An’ we all know ain’t no good comin’ out of that.”

Carol crosses her arms, mirroring Daryl’s stance, and gives him a stern look. “He’s just trying to help. We need to get her out of that house before that man _really_ hurts her. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Daryl says, shifting his feet and staring at the floor. “An’ I got no problem with helpin’ her. But right now Rick’s thinkin’ with his dick an’ not his head and that’s gonna cause more shit than it fixes.”

“And so you think the answer is for me to sleep with Rick,” Carol says, raising an eyebrow. Daryl grunts and nods, and Carol shakes her head. “No.”

“Not even a little…” Daryl blushes and makes a hand motion at his mouth.

“ _No_ ,” Carol says. “And just for that, you don’t get any cookies.”

“Fine,” Daryl says, turning on his heel and stomping out to find Michonne.

//

_11:30 a.m._

“Ask me that again and I will gut you,” Michonne says, her eyes sliding to the katana above the fireplace.

Daryl frowns. “Thought you had the hots for him.”

“Thought _you_ had the hots for him,” Michonne counters.

Daryl blinks rapidly at that. “Nah.”

She rolls her eyes hard and points at the door.

“What about just sucking him off, then?” Daryl asks, telling himself that once he finds somebody to get Rick off, the man _owes_ him for making him talk about this shit to people.

“Get out,” Michonne says, and Daryl does.

//

_1:15 p.m._

Glenn leans against the wall and eyes Daryl suspiciously while Maggie perches on the porch swing. “What do you need, Daryl?” Glenn asks.

Daryl rubs the back of his neck and stares at the ground. “Need…” He trails off, then looks up at Maggie. “Need you to fuck Rick,” he tells her, then flicks his eyes up at Glenn. “Thought you might need, you know, permission.”

Glenn blinks at him, his mouth falling open. Maggie stands up. “You want me to do what?”

“Jesus, am I fucking stuttering?” Daryl rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I need you to fuck Rick. Hell, both of you can do it together, I don’t care. Man just needs to unload an’ somebody’s gotta do it before he does something stupid.”

“I’m not sleeping with Rick,” Glenn says. “And Maggie’s not, either.”

Maggie glares at Glenn. “Don’t speak for me. We talked about this.”

They stare at each other for several tense seconds, then Glenn huffs out a breath and nods.

If Daryl had been a cat, his ears would have perked up. “So you’ll do it?”

“No,” Maggie says, a tiny smile hovering at the corners of her mouth. “Just didn’t want Glenn makin’ my decisions for me, that’s all.”

Daryl scowls. “Well, who else is there? Tara’s gay an’ Rosita’s with Abraham. Guess there’s Eugene but he don’t strike me as the type to give it his best shot, you know? And I ain’t askin’ Sasha with how upset she’s been lately.”

“Michonne might,” Maggie points out.

Daryl sighs heavily, shifting on his feet. “Already asked. She said no too. And Carol.”

“Father Gabriel,” Glenn says, and Daryl’s scowl deepens even more.

“Need somebody to fuck him,” Daryl mutters. “Not _pray_ at him.”

Maggie smiles and puts a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. He lets it lie there for a second before shrugging it off. “Sorry, Daryl,” Maggie says. “Just can’t do it.”

Daryl lets out the longest, heaviest sigh he thinks he’s ever let go and stands up straighter. “Fine. You pussies won’t do it, fine. I’ll just fucking do it myself.” And he turns and strides off with great purpose toward Aaron’s house, leaving Glenn and Maggie staring behind him on the porch.

//

_2:05 p.m._

Daryl shoves Aaron up against the wall of his living room, his big-ass buck knife pressed to the man’s neck. “If you laugh, I’ll slit your throat,” he growls. He knows full well that he wouldn’t actually do that, would never hurt a nice guy like Aaron, but _Aaron_ doesn’t know that, and this seems like the time to throw out some threats for the good of the order.

“Whoa, whoa,” Aaron says, spreading his arms out to his sides and swallowing hard against the knife blade. “Don’t need the knife, Daryl. Just tell me what’s going on.”

Daryl pulls the knife back a little, leaving it near Aaron’s throat but not pressing the blade against his skin anymore. “Tell me you ain’t gonna laugh,” he demands.

“Scout’s honor,” Aaron says, and Daryl grunts and lets him go. Aaron reaches up and rubs his throat, watching Daryl warily. “What… do you need?”

Daryl blushes and then tries to hide it by wiping his hand across his face. “Need to know how to give good head,” he mumbles after a moment.

Aaron wrinkles his forehead. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you.”

Daryl sighs and walks around in a tight circle. “Need to know how to give a BJ,” he says, speaking a little more clearly now but not any louder.

Aaron, for his part, looks terrified to ask again, but he clears his throat. “Still couldn’t hear you…”

“I NEED TO KNOW HOW TO SUCK A DICK,” Daryl barks out, and Aaron’s mouth falls open. “Not yours. Somebody else’s. Rick’s.” He points the knife at Aaron again, waves it menacingly. “So tell me how to do it and then let’s never talk about this again.”

Aaron blinks at him. “You want to give Rick a blowjob,” he says, deadpan.

“I don’t _want_ to,” Daryl says, ignoring the tiny little voice in the back of his mind that’s not so sure of that. “But I _got_ to, an’ it’s gotta be a really fuckin’ good one. ‘S important. He’s gotta _love_ it.”

“...but why?”

“That’s none’a your damn business,” Daryl growls. “Just tell me how to do it right.”

“Okay,” Aaron says after a really long pause in which Daryl shuffles his feet like a nervous foal. “I mean, there’s not a lot to say? Just... you’re a guy. You know what feels good. So, you know... do that.”

Daryl frowns and speaks really quietly again, mumbling the words through his deep shame. “Don’t know.”

Aaron sucks in a hard breath through his nose. “Um, I couldn’t... hear...”

“Fuck me with a pinecone, man, you fuckin’ hard of hearing or something? Christ.” Daryl shoves his knife back into its home on his belt and starts pacing. “Nobody ever blew me before, okay? So I don’t know what feels good. I can guess, but guessin’ ain't good enough. Not for Rick.”

Aaron blinks, his already-red cheeks going even redder. “You’re a virgin,” he says, and it's not a question.

Daryl stops in his pacing to administer a death glare. “Ain’t a virgin, jackass. Just... this is new territory.”

Aaron lifts both hands and buries his face in them. “Goddammit,” he says, his voice muffled by his palms pressed against his mouth. “I’m a gay mentor now.”

“This ain’t about me bein’ gay or not gay or whatever,” Daryl says. “’S about Rick. So just tell me what to do.”

Aaron leaves his face in his hands for another few seconds, then takes a deep breath and starts explaining, all red cheeks and awkward hand motions, and Daryl listens intently as he paces a circle in the carpet of Aaron’s living room.

And then, finally, when Aaron looks like he can’t possibly survive any more questions, Daryl nods. “Okay. I can do this. I got this.”

“You got it,” Aaron agrees, looking extremely relieved.

“Thanks,” Daryl says, and Aaron nods and gives him a shaky clap on the shoulder of encouragement.

“Go get ‘em, buddy,” Aaron says. “Get your man.”

//

_Present Time_

Rick’s cock is soft against Daryl’s lips but Daryl tells himself that that’s okay. He hadn’t exactly given the man a lot of warning to start getting it up, and besides, Rick’s making up for lost time very quickly, his dick hardening so fast that Daryl can practically hear all the blood rushing from one of Rick’s heads down to the other. Daryl slides his lips down over the shaft and then swipes his tongue back and forth in a zigzag pattern over the underside as he bobs his head, and then looks up through his eyelashes at Rick, who’s staring down at him with a dumbfounded expression.

“Daryl,” Rick says again, his voice raspy and breathless. "What--"

Daryl hums in frustration and glares up at him, then runs his tongue over the slit at the tip of Rick’s cock and that’s when Rick gives in, sucking in a hard breath and slamming his head down onto the back of the couch so that he can stare at the ceiling. His hands slide into Daryl’s hair, holding on but not guiding his movements in any way, and he stares up at the ceiling and lets out the breath he’d taken in a long, shuddering sigh.

“God, Daryl,” Rick breathes as Daryl moves his head, licking up and down Rick’s cock with the same single-minded determination he uses for everything he does. “Fuck, it’s been a long time.” The constable squeezes his eyes shut and swallows hard, squirming under Daryl’s tongue.

Daryl grunts and grips the base of Rick’s now-fully-erect dick in one hand while he slides his other hand down to cup Rick’s balls lightly. He breathes through his nose and takes in as much of Rick as he can--which isn’t nearly enough, isn’t nearly as much as he _wants_ to have in his mouth, but gagging himself wouldn’t be sexy and so he just concentrates on using plenty of tongue, on keeping his teeth back and his mouth tight and wet around Rick.

Judging by the way Rick’s thighs are trembling on either side of Daryl and by the way the man’s hips keep stuttering upward almost like he can’t control it, Daryl figures he must be doing a pretty good job. Daryl pulls his mouth off for a moment, running his tongue under the ridge that separates the head from the shaft, and Rick shudders hard.

“Good?” Daryl says, his voice miles deep and rougher than he’d expected it would be, but then again he’s never sucked cock before and so who knows what he should have expected.

Rick lets out an incredulous laugh, his eyes flying open as he stares at the ceiling for a moment before looking down at Daryl, who’s already taken him back in, stroking what he can’t fit in his mouth and swirling his tongue wickedly around what he can. “Yeah, good,” he says, then jolts and moans when Daryl pulls off again and teases the slit with the tip of his tongue again. “Jesus Christ, Daryl, I’m not gonna last…”

Daryl looks up at him, kissing the tip with swollen lips and fixing their eyes together. _Dirty talk_ , he thinks, and he lets half of his mouth curve up into what he hopes is a sexy smile as he says, “Come on, then. Down my throat.”

Rick’s breath hitches and he uses his hands in Daryl’s hair to push the archer’s head back down over his shaft. Daryl moans and takes him in, kneading Rick’s tightening balls lightly while he relaxes his throat and tries to let Rick slide just that extra little bit in, and then Rick’s hips are arching against him and Rick is cursing loudly as Daryl feels pulses of heat flood his mouth.

And god, it tastes _so fucking good_. Aaron hadn’t mentioned that, had just said it was going to be a little salty, a little umami, and Daryl had just nodded because he wasn’t going to admit that he had no idea what the fuck _umami_ meant but if it’s anything like this, Daryl decides that it might just be his favorite thing. He swallows it down and pulls off of Rick’s cock, then leans forward again as he sees the last drops leaking from the tip and he licks them up, savors the taste on his tongue.

Daryl thinks back to a girlfriend he’d had in high school, a girl who refused to do this for him because she didn’t like the flavor of come. Nobody _liked_ it, she’d said, and Daryl hadn’t thought much of it at the time since she’d been willing to do other things so it didn’t matter. But now, with the taste of Rick on his tongue, he remembers that girl for the first time in twenty years and it occurs to him that she was as full of shit as a fertilizer truck because Jesus, he could do this all day, could drink Rick like a fucking milkshake and never be thirsty again.

Except that’s not what this is. This is stress relief, nothing else. It’s for Rick and not for Daryl and that’s fine. That’s as it should be.

“Better?” Daryl asks Rick, the flavor washing over his mouth again as his tongue moves.

Rick stares down at him, pupils blown open like Daryl had planted grenades in his eyes, and nods slowly. “Fuck,” he whispers, then suddenly goes boneless and sags into the couch, draping his forearm over his eyes. “Holy hell, give me a minute and I’ll--”

Daryl stands up quickly, giving Rick an encouraging, manly clap on the thigh. “Good. Gonna go work on my bike for a while, but I’ll see you at dinner. Carol’s makin’ some kinda potato casserole thing.” He crosses the room and picks his jacket up from the floor, shrugs it back onto his shoulders.  


He doesn’t look back at Rick, at the way the man is sprawled on the couch with his cock out, Daryl’s spit still glistening on his skin. He doesn’t pay attention to the way Rick’s mouth is hanging open, his eyes glazed, his fingers dug in to the couch cushions. He doesn’t notice any of that, because if he notices any of it then he might kiss Rick, might share this flavor with him and never stop.

So he doesn’t notice.

Instead he turns around and leaves the house, passing Carol on the street on her way back to Rick’s house. She raises an eyebrow at him, and he smirks and murmurs, “Took care of it,” before heading back for the garage.


	2. It's Finally Happening

Rick staggers out onto the porch, weak-kneed and fuzzy, his brain a rolling mess of confusion and emotion and visceral satisfaction, and watches Daryl stride off down the street, a spring in the man’s step that Rick can’t remember ever seeing before. The hunter stops briefly to speak to Carol, then disappears down a side street. Carol stays where she is for a few seconds, staring after him, then shakes her head and climbs the stairs to stand on the porch beside Rick.

“You look better,” Carol says, pressing her lips together when she’s done speaking like she’s holding off a smile.

Rick blinks and pulls his eyes away from the corner where Daryl had crossed out of his line of sight. He gazes at Carol blankly. “What?”

“You’ve seemed stressed lately,” Carol says, her cheeks tightening even more. “But you seem better now. What’s your secret?”

“Where’s Daryl going?” Rick asks, then feels pretty stupid about it because Daryl had already told him where he’d be. Aaron’s garage. With his bike. Probably with Rick’s taste still in his mouth. In his _mouth_. Holy _shit_.

“Garage, I think,” Carol answers. “Said he’d be back for dinner.”

“Yeah,” Rick says, lifting a hand to rub his own chin, smooth from the razor and suddenly feeling wrong somehow. “Yeah, he better be.”

//

Daryl isn’t back yet when Carol calls everyone to sit down at the table. Rick leaves a space beside him on the bench for Daryl and proceeds to glare at anyone who tries to take it. Not that anyone _does_ \--it’s become routine for Daryl to sit beside Rick any time there’s a table. Rick wonders when that started happening and why the hell he hadn’t jumped the man’s bones long before now.

Carol starts passing around the dish of casserole and smiles at the group. “How is everyone tonight? We all look like we’ve had a good day. Rick especially.”

Rick blinks and then recovers, spooning some casserole onto his plate. “I guess I did have a good day,” he says, trying not to blush as he thinks about how just a couple of hours ago, everything had changed.

“Anything special happen?” Michonne asks, then shoves a forkful of food into her mouth and watches Rick while she chews.

Rick’s ears turn red and he takes a moment to wonder if it’s possible for them to catch fire. “No, not really,” he says, even as his brain wants to scream _IT’S FINALLY HAPPENING_ at anyone who will listen.

Carol hmms at that. “What did you and Daryl talk about this afternoon?”

Every head at the table snaps toward Rick, with the sole exception of Carl, who narrows his eyes and looks at everyone else before finally following everyone’s gaze straight to his father.

“Um,” Rick says, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. It seems pretty clear to him that he and Daryl are a Thing now--surely Daryl wouldn’t have done that today if it wasn’t an opening into a relationship, _finally_. But still, they haven’t really talked about it yet and so he decides it’s probably best not to spill the beans before he knows if Daryl wants it to be common knowledge.

“Shit, what’d you do now?” Daryl asks from the doorway, and Rick looks over at him and can’t keep his face from breaking into what must be a very goofy-looking smile.

Daryl smiles back for the barest second before his usual impassive mask drops back over his face. He walks over and slides onto the bench beside Rick, then reaches over the table to grab the casserole dish and spoon himself out a big portion. Rick stares at him, running his eyes along the length of Daryl’s arm, and a tiny sigh escapes him.

Carol slaps at Daryl’s arm. “You’re covered in grease,” she says. “Go wash your hands before you touch the utensils.”

“Ain’t grease,” Daryl grumbles. “Motor oil. Not the same.”

“Still, go wash your hands,” Carol says, and Daryl makes a face and stands up.

“I’ll help you,” Rick blurts out, standing up too, and Daryl raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t comment.

No such luck from the rest of the room, though. A round of snickering starts up, involving everybody except Carl, and Rick frowns in confusion. It’s not like any of them _know_ , after all. Except… okay, maybe Carol knows. Maybe Daryl told her. But surely he didn’t tell the others. Surely _Abraham_ doesn’t know. Surely Tara doesn’t. Surely not even Glenn and Maggie know. It just isn’t Daryl’s style to kiss and tell.

Not that they’d kissed. Which Rick now sees as a _gross_ oversight on both of their parts. One that he hopes to remedy very soon. He looks over at Daryl, taking in the tilt of the man’s shoulders and the lips that had only recently been wrapped around Rick’s cock, and then bites his lip to keep from whimpering at the thought.

“Well, fuck me sideways,” Abraham says, elbowing Glenn. “Guess girls really do go to the shitter in groups.”

“Ain’t a girl, asshole,” Daryl grumbles, and Rick’s stomach does a flip-flop at the timbre of the archer’s voice.

“I just need to talk to Daryl for a minute,” Rick says, trying to sound very nonchalant so that everybody won’t _know_. “About… things.”

“Finishing up your conversation from earlier?” Michonne says, smirking behind a spoonful of casserole.

“I think that one was already finished,” Carol points out, looking so damn innocent that Rick immediately knows that she knows. “But maybe they’ve got to talk about it again.”

“Screw you,” Daryl says, the tips of his ears redder than fire engines. “Gonna go wash my damn hands.”

“Okay, Pookie. Let us know if you need more help.” Carol bats her eyelashes at Daryl, and he rolls his eyes and stomps off toward the bathroom.

Rick decides that it would only be _more_ awkward if he stayed at the table after all that, so he follows Daryl down the hall, stepping inside the bathroom and closing the door behind them. “Hey,” Rick says, smiling and letting his eyes twinkle. “Missed you.”

Daryl’s eyes narrow a little. “Saw you two hours ago,” he says, turning on the tap and scrubbing at his hands, sudsing all the way up to his elbows.

“Yeah, but…” Rick lifts a hand, considers for a moment where to put it, and settles for Daryl’s shoulder. “I mean, after what happened--”

“Nothing happened,” Daryl mumbles, then sighs heavily. “I mean, shit happened. Ain’t gonna pretend like it didn’t. But it wasn’t a big deal.”

Rick stares at him like he’s sprouted six more heads and a duck bill. “Wasn’t a big deal?”

“Nah,” Daryl says. He turns off the water and grabs for a hand towel to dry his arms off. “You was stressed an’ you needed it. An’ now you feel better, don’t you?”

Rick blinks as if that’s going to dispel the extra heads. “Yeah, but--”

“Then I did my job,” Daryl interjects. He claps Rick on the shoulder. “You’re welcome, Rick.”

“But…” Rick says, and this time Daryl doesn’t cut him off but Rick can’t think of what he wants to say from there, so he just lets the words trail off.

Daryl watches him for a few seconds, then slowly lifts his hand from Rick’s shoulder to his chin, tracing his fingers over the smooth skin for just a second before dropping them. “Kinda miss your beard,” he says, very quietly.

“I’ll grow it back,” Rick says instantly.

Daryl laughs, a low chuckle that goes directly to Rick’s stomach and flickers there like a pilot light. “Maybe keep it a little less full’a cockleburs this time, though.”

Rick flushes slightly. “There weren’t cockleburs in it before.”

Daryl grunts in acknowledgement, one corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Still.”

“Right,” Rick says. Oh god, he thinks, he’s going to kiss Daryl. Rick is about to _kiss Daryl_. Holy shit. His lungs constrict and his breath comes fast and shallow as he raises his hand up to Daryl’s face and rubs his thumb over the man’s bottom lip.

Rick leans forward. Daryl flinches backwards.

“Gotta get back out there ‘fore they start thinkin’ we’re screwing in the closet,” Daryl grumbles, then pushes past Rick and heads back into the dining room, leaving Rick standing in the bathroom with a racing pulse and a sinking, almost crushing sense of disappointment.

But Daryl sucked his cock this afternoon. So surely kissing isn’t totally off the table. Daryl probably just doesn’t want to announce everything to the family just yet. Yes, that must be it. Tonight, after dinner… things will be different. Everything will change. Not that it hadn’t already, but this time they’d talk about it. Set ground rules and terminology and figure out who got what side of the bed from now on. Tonight is going to be _the night_. After all these months, tonight is going to be _it_.

Encouraged by his own internal pep talk, Rick takes a moment to compose himself and then walks back out into the dining room and takes his seat beside Daryl again.

//

Dinner turns out to be an exercise in sexual frustration, at least as far as Rick is concerned. There are things Daryl allows and things he doesn’t, and Rick can’t find a rhyme or reason to why some things are okay and others aren’t. Sitting close together with their thighs touching is fine. Brushing fingers as they pass the peas is acceptable too. But putting a hand on Daryl’s leg is definitely _not_ okay, and when Rick reaches behind Daryl and runs his fingers over Daryl’s lower back, he’s surprised that Daryl doesn’t punch him if the look he gets is any indication.

And Rick is _burning_ for him, desperate for any contact, shivering at the barest touch, and honestly the only reason he doesn’t leap up from the table and drag Daryl to his bedroom like a fucking caveman is because he’s not sure how he’d explain that to Carl.

He’s so rock-hard under the table that as the meal draws to a close, he has to deliberately turn his attention to something else, something not related at all to the archer at his side. Otherwise getting up from the table without everyone knowing is going to be utterly impossible, and he’s fairly certain that his dick might turn into a compass with Daryl as north, spinning around to always point at him, and the thought makes Rick blush even harder.

“Baseball,” Rick blurts out, and everyone stares at him again.

“Baseball,” Glenn deadpans.

“Baseball,” Maggie says.

“Baseball,” Abraham repeats.

“Baseball,” Carol chirps, looking just ridiculously pleased with the situation. Rick glares at her.

There’s a long pause, then Tara looks around at everyone and says, “So baseball?”

Rick nods. “We should… play it. When’s the last time we got to do something just for fun? And there’s that field out by Mrs. Oliver’s house. We could play there.”

There’s another very long, very awkward pause, then Abraham pipes up. “Could rustle up some beer. Ain’t baseball without warm beer.”

“Ain’t baseball without hot dogs, either,” Daryl says, and Rick groans, placing his hands on his own thighs and digging his fingernails in as images of Daryl just fucking deep-throating a chili cheese coney run through his head. He picks up his glass of water and tries to concentrate on drinking instead of on how Daryl’s tongue had felt on his cock.

“What base do you usually get to, Rick?” Maggie asks, a ridiculously huge smile on her face.

Rick sputters, spraying a little bit of water out of his mouth. Daryl reaches over and claps him hard on the back a couple of times.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Michonne grins, her teeth flashing bright over the table. “Rick always hits a home run. Especially if Daryl’s pitching.”

Daryl blinks. “What?”

Carl looks around the table, frowning. “My dad played shortstop,” he says. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tara says. “You just eat your casserole and don’t listen to these guys.”

“Come on, _somebody’s_ got to have a shortstop joke,” Maggie says. “Rosita? Help me out here.”

Rosita smirks. “Got to be something to do with catchin’ a pop-up fly, right?”

Rick is not at all sure what a pop-up fly is slang for in this instance, but he’s absolutely one hundred percent sure he’s down for it if it has anything to do with getting Daryl’s lips on his skin again. He thinks about Daryl’s tongue burning zig-zag patterns over his cock, imagines what it would feel like going lower, over his balls and down even further, and holy shit maybe he can get Daryl to fuck him tonight. He has no idea how that really even _works_ , and he’s pretty sure there’s no lube in the house but he thinks there might be lotion or something in the bathroom cabinet, and he can always tie Daryl to the bed and then run across town to the store rooms and steal some if he has to.

And with that, the possibility of everyone at the table seeing Rick’s tent seems like less of a problem than the possibility of everyone at the table seeing a big wet spot on the front of Rick’s pants if he sits here any longer, so Rick quickly adjusts himself as best he can and stands up, stepping sideways so that maybe Daryl’s body will block Rick’s groin from view of most of the family. Rick stretches dramatically. “Goin’ to bed,” he says, then pats Daryl on the shoulder and nods at all the goodnights before retreating to his bedroom.

//

Rick lies on his back on the bed, clutching the sheets against his chest, and stares at the ceiling for a long time while he waits for Daryl to come after him. While he waits for _Daryl Dixon_ to come to _bed_ with _him_. He can’t even wrap his head around it. He wonders if Daryl will take a shower first, then finds himself hoping that he won’t--both because a shower would take longer and because the thought of ending up with streaks of motor oil on his skin from contact with Daryl’s arms turns him on to a ridiculous degree.

Daryl had acted weird in the bathroom, but Rick tells himself that it’s probably just because the family had been waiting for them to get back. Now, with the whole night ahead of them… Rick sighs happily. Things are going to happen. Dirty things. Perfect things.

Honestly, before this afternoon, Rick hadn’t given this much thought. Sure, Daryl is everything to him, has been for a long time now. His brother, his right-hand man, the chicken to his dumplings. Daryl centers him and anchors him and Daryl makes him smile. Daryl is good with Carl and even better with Judith, a natural father and a fantastic provider, loyal and funny and sassy and somehow both incredibly confident and heartbreakingly insecure at the same time.

And sure, Rick’s felt that flash of boiling hot lust hit him like a flamethrower a couple of times over the time he’s known Daryl, when the man’s muscles flexed just so or he bent over at just the right angle or his arms crushed Rick up against a firm chest while pulling him back from Walkers. He’s popped more than a couple of boners since meeting the guy, and he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t jerked off thinking about him a few times.

Well, back when he used to jerk off. Back at the prison. Not since then, which is probably why he embarrassed himself by climaxing so quickly this afternoon. It’s not the fastest he’s ever come, not by a long shot (tenth grade behind the bleachers with Troy Evans’s hand down his pants comes to mind), but he’s still excited about the chance to show Daryl that he can hold it together for a respectable amount of time after all.

But anyway, despite Rick’s deep respect for Daryl and his lust for Daryl and his undeniable platonic/family-level _love_ for Daryl… he hadn’t given much thought to letting that emotion leak over into _romantic_ territory. He’d assumed that Daryl was straight, mostly because he’d never said otherwise, and Rick kicks himself for never just asking the man flat out--do you like dudes? do you like _me_?--but really, when had Daryl shown any interest in anyone in the group?

Well, except for the one time a few days ago in the rain. Before Alexandria, when they’d been dying of thirst, and the downpour had started and Rick had caught Daryl watching him with a flicker of something in his eyes that Rick wasn’t quite able to translate. But that was one time, and it was inconclusive anyway.

But this afternoon. Oh, this afternoon. This afternoon, Daryl had _given Rick a blowjob_. That just _has_ to be pretty clear on the sexuality scale, especially since it was Daryl’s idea. Even if he isn’t _primarily_ into men, the thought of blowing one clearly didn’t disgust him. So maybe… there’s a chance. Rick sighs again, very very happily, and waits.

//

An hour later, both Rick’s hopefulness and his rather impressive erection have faded. He sighs again, less happily this time, and starts trying to remember the corny President’s speech from _Independence Day_ just to keep himself awake.

“In less than an hour,” he mumbles into the still air of the bedroom, “aircraft from here will join others from around the world…”

//

Two hours into his vigil, Rick rolls over onto his side, facing the door. He sighs heavily this time, a frustrated sigh, and wishes he still had a smartphone so he can play some stupid game like Angry Birds or Snake until Daryl finally shows his stupid redneck face in the doorway. And then they can get on with things. Finally.

“Where the hell are you?” he whispers, frowning.

//

At the three-hour mark, Rick lets out one last huff of a defeated sigh and flops over onto his other side, facing away from the door. “Fine,” he grumbles. “Guess I was imagining things.” He closes his eyes and tries not to think about how the pit of his stomach feels heavy, how disappointment claws at the inside of his throat, how Daryl’s hands had felt on his heated skin.

He fails.


	3. Push and Pull

It's approaching midnight when Carol walks out onto the porch. Daryl hears her footsteps and sits up from his makeshift nest in his usual corner, and Carol nearly jumps out of her skin when Daryl grunts out a greeting. She turns and gives him a stern look, waggling her finger at him like he’s a disobedient child. “Why are you out here?”

Daryl shrugs. “‘S where I sleep.”

Folding her arms, Carol says, “Did Rick kick you out of bed?”

He shrugs again and settles back down, punching the pillow to get it into a better position. “Why would I have been in Rick’s bed in the first place?”

Carol stares at him so hard that Daryl can almost physically feel her eyes on him. He squints up at her. “What?” he asks, snapping out the question a little more angrily than he intends to.

“You mean you didn’t follow him up to his room after dinner?” she demands, scowling.

Daryl rolls over onto his side, facing away from her. “Just came out here, is all.”

“Daryl Bartholomew Dixon,” Carol says, her mom-voice strong and a little frightening. “You mean to tell me that poor Rick has been laying up in his bed _all alone_ for _three hours_ waiting on you?”

Daryl frowns but doesn’t roll back to face her. “Bartholomew?” he asks, scoffing.

“You’re changing the subject,” she snaps.

He grunts and doesn’t respond to that, just shuffles around and pulls his jacket tighter around himself.

“Get up,” Carol demands, then bends down and grabs a fistful of Daryl’s vest and pulls him to a sitting position and then up onto his feet. “You march your ass upstairs and apologize for keeping him waiting. Right now.”

Daryl stares at her a little blankly. “What?”

“Apologize to your boyfriend, Daryl.” Carol lets go of Daryl’s clothes and gives him a shove in the direction of the door.

“Whoa,” Daryl says, digging his heels in and refusing to budge. “Ain’t my boyfriend.”

“Rick seems to think he is,” Carol insists. “The way he was looking at you at dinner. He thinks you’re together.”

“Ain’t together,” Daryl says. “Just sucked him off is all.”

Carol smacks him on the side of the head. “That man is waiting for you in his bedroom. Go talk to him, at least.”

“Rick’s asleep,” Daryl says. “Went to bed hours ago.”

“To wait for you.” Carol crosses her arms.

Daryl makes a _pish_ sound and folds his own arms over his chest. “Nah. Why would he be waitin’ on _me_?”

“Maybe because you had sex with him and now he assumes you’ll want to do it again,” Carol says, narrowing her eyes at him. “Which is a pretty understandable conclusion, if you ask me.”

Daryl makes another _pish_ sound, but this one doesn’t come out sounding so confident, and he can’t quite meet Carol’s gaze. “He ain’t waitin’ on me. He’s long asleep by now.”

Carol reaches up and grabs Daryl’s ear, hauling him inside the house and to the staircase. Daryl lets out a few squeaks of protest along the way, but mostly lets Carol lead him by the ear without any real resistance. When they’re at the bottom of the steps, she lets go and gives him the steeliest look he’s ever seen. “You go up there and talk to him.”

“But--”

“But nothing. Go talk to him.” She points up the stairs. “March.”

Daryl lets out a frustrated breath through his nose, eyeing the landing at the top of the stairs warily. “What do I say?”

Carol’s expression softens a bit and she puts her hand on his cheek. “Oh, Pookie. You’ll think of something.”

//

Daryl pauses outside the door to Rick’s bedroom, listening carefully for any sounds of restlessness, any snoring, any sign that might give him an idea of what to expect when he opens the door. Part of him hopes that he’ll find it locked anyway, so he’d be able to tell Carol that she’s crazy, that Rick doesn’t want him like that. But part of him wouldn’t mind getting another taste of the man. Surely if one blowjob had boosted Rick’s mood this much, that part of him says, another would have an even better result.

And when Rick is happy, life is better for everybody. So really it’s the polite thing to do, to give Rick head again. He’s not doing it for himself. He’s doing it for _everyone_. The family and the Alexandrites alike. They should all thank him for his public service. He deserves a fucking _medal_ for this shit.

He takes a deep breath, straightens his shirt, licks his lips, rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, and counts to six before pushing open the door to Rick’s bedroom. _You got this, Dixon_ , he thinks to himself.

Only he doesn’t got this, not at all, because the sight of Rick curled up in the sheets, his cheek against the pillow, his forehead relaxed and all the lines smoothed away--well, it does something to Daryl that has nothing at all to do with public service. Something centered rather unsettlingly in his chest.

Daryl steps inside and closes the door behind him carefully, twisting the doorknob so that it doesn’t click when it slides closed. He takes a step toward the bed, watching Rick breathe quietly into the darkness of the room, and suddenly all he wants in the world--more than absolutely anything else--is to touch Rick’s skin, to feel the rough stubble just beginning to grow back. And maybe that’s not what this is, but the way Rick looks while he sleeps has destroyed all of Daryl’s defenses and so he tiptoes over to the side of the bed and reaches out, letting the pads of his fingers run feather-light over the curve of Rick’s jaw.

Rick stirs and his eyes fly open, and Daryl has just the barest moment to consider running away before Rick breathes out “you came” and the man’s face breaks into a wide, unguarded smile.

Before today, Daryl can’t remember the last time Rick smiled, _really_ smiled. He guesses it must have been the day that they found Judith with Tyreese, safe and sound, but even that had been a relieved sort of smile. Happiness, yes, but not the light kind, not the carefree kind. Rick has a smile that lights up more than just the room--more like the whole fucking _planet_ \--and with the world as shitty as it is, Rick’s smile might literally be the best thing on Earth right now. And now Daryl has gotten not one, but _two_ full-out delirium-inducing smiles from the man in one day, and honestly he’s not sure how his legs even still work after having those things leveled at him.

So he takes pity on his legs and goes down to his knees beside the bed. Rick has hold of Daryl’s wrist and has already started pressing his lips to the soft skin below Daryl’s palm by the time that Daryl finds his voice again.

“Sit up,” Daryl murmurs, reaching for Rick’s leg and tugging it over the side of the bed.

Rick twists his body to a sitting position and lets Daryl spread his knees apart and wedge himself between them. “Am I dreaming?” Rick asks with a breathless laugh.

Daryl keeps his eyes down, watching his own hands as they push the waistband of Rick’s boxers down to expose his rapidly hardening dick, because if he lets himself look up into Rick’s eyes he might melt into a puddle on the floor, and Daryl has no idea what that means but he’s pretty sure it has something to do with the way Rick looks in the rain, the way that for months Daryl’s heart has been going haywire every time Rick’s voice goes low and rough with that delicious tone of _authority_ that makes Daryl shiver.

“I want you,” Rick whispers, tangling his fingers in Daryl’s hair like he had earlier on the couch.

“Got me,” Daryl says, keeping his eyes on the clear bead of pre-come that his tongue is aching to lap at. “For right now, at least.”

Rick takes a breath but Daryl leans forward and licks a stripe up his cock before the words can come out, and Rick hisses and throws his head back and lets out a long, shaking breath toward the ceiling. “God, Daryl,” he gasps out.

Daryl closes his eyes and runs his tongue along the slit at the top of Rick’s cock, letting the saltiness of Rick spread across his taste buds, and he moans sort of embarrassingly loudly at it. Who knew that he was going to love this so damn much? Daryl kisses the tip once he’s licked it clean and then slowly slides his lips down the shaft.

Rick’s breath catches in his throat and his hips buck upward like he can’t stop them from moving. Daryl feels himself smiling around Rick’s thickness and it occurs to him that a line has been crossed here already--Rick wants _him_ , not _it_. Not just a mouth or a pair of hands. He wants _Daryl’s_ mouth, _Daryl’s_ hands. And Daryl doesn’t have any real experience with sucking anyone’s dick other than Rick’s, but he gets the feeling that he wouldn’t be so damn _ecstatic_ about the prospect of having anyone else’s spunk in his mouth. Which means that this--this might be a _thing_.

And really, what makes him uncomfortable about that thought is how _not_ uncomfortable he feels about it.

He slips his hand inside Rick’s boxers and runs his knuckles softly over the man’s balls, earning a gasping groan from Rick and a surprised thrust up into Daryl’s mouth. Daryl whimpers happily and sucks harder, hollowing out his cheeks and pressing his tongue against the silky skin in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the shaft and twists his head slowly from side to side as he moves on Rick, letting his lips slide back and forth at the same time as they slide up and down, and Rick is already a shivering mess of profanity and sweat and Daryl loves it, loves that he can do this to him, loves the way his name sounds gasped out of Rick’s mouth like it’s escaping the man’s lungs without permission.

Nobody else has ever said Daryl’s name quite like that. Or, hell, maybe they have. He’d never gotten the feeling that any of his previous partners had been unsatisfied with his performance, and he thinks he can remember one girl who liked to scream names--usually his, thankfully--in bed. But it had never sounded like this, like awe, like worship, like disbelief. Like sex with Daryl is something _special_ and not just release.

And that--the panted-out _Daryls_ and _pleases_ and _oh gods_ mixed with the way Rick’s cock tastes in his mouth--stirs something in Daryl’s body and he lets go of the base of Rick’s shaft so that he can reach down and press his palm against himself through his jeans.

He’s getting hard. For Rick. _Fuck_.

Rick twists his fingers in Daryl’s hair and pulls with a sharp jerk, clearly asking for Daryl’s attention. Daryl pulls off, his lips making an obscene popping noise when Rick’s cock springs free of them. He eyes Rick and raises an eyebrow.

Rick’s pupils are huge, the irises ringing them glacier-blue and practically glowing even in the darkness. “Do you want to fuck me?” Rick murmurs. “You can.”

Daryl grunts and laps at the head of Rick’s cock. “Rather have you come in my mouth,” he says, palming himself through his pants again.

Rick’s eyes flick down to where Daryl’s hand is moving on himself. “You get off on that?” Rick asks, running his fingers through Daryl’s hair in a way that’s disturbingly gentle. “On tasting me?”

Daryl ignores the question, just leans forward and sucks Rick in again, licking at the vein traveling up the underside of the shaft and moving his hand back to circle around the base, stroking what he can’t reach with his lips.

“God, yes,” Rick breathes, throwing his head back again and slowly moving his hips in rhythm, more the _suggestion_ of fucking Daryl’s mouth than the actual act of it. “Keep going, Daryl, please...”

Daryl hmms around Rick and speeds up, relaxing his throat and trying to let more of Rick’s length in his mouth. It’s still not exactly porn-star levels of depth, but Rick’s whole body shudders with it and Daryl counts that as a win. Maybe next time he’ll--

Next time?

 _Shit_ , Daryl thinks. Yesterday he’d never given a blowjob and today he’s what must be at least three-quarters of the way through his second one, and he’s thinking about what to do _next time_. To Rick. His leader, his friend, his... well, he can’t really say _brother_ anymore. He figures that _brother_ is all shot to hell once you’ve swallowed the man in question’s jizz. His Rick. Which, come to think of it, sounds even more like this is a thing than anything else had.

“Gonna come in your mouth,” Rick gasps out, moving one hand out of Daryl’s hair and clutching the edge of the mattress like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

Daryl moans loudly before he remembers that this is supposed to be just for Rick. His own cock is throbbing in time with the one in his mouth and he’s honestly not sure that he’d be able to hold himself back from coming in his pants if a good breeze blew in from the window across his lap. But fuck, Rick is so close and he’s moaning Daryl’s name again and Daryl feels Rick’s balls tighten under his knuckles, and when Rick arches up, digging his nails into Daryl’s scalp and letting a loud, incoherent cry of victory out into the quiet room, Daryl whimpers and reaches down to rub himself through his pants. And when the first pulse of heat floods his mouth with the heady taste of Rick, Daryl is coming too, harder than he’s come in _years_ , if ever, and it’s all because of Rick, because of what Rick letting go does to him.

Rick reaches down and hauls Daryl up, pulling him to a higher kneeling position and before Daryl can protest--before Daryl can even decide whether he _wants_ to protest--Rick has his hands on Daryl’s cheeks and Daryl’s brain sends a frantic message to the rest of his body to _run away_ but his body ignores the message and instead he just fucking melts into Rick, sliding his arms around the man’s back and letting Rick’s lips move on his, and Daryl swears he sees his life flashing before his eyes because surely this is going to be the death of him. Surely no one can survive Rick Grimes kissing them with the intensity of a heart attack, a tsunami, the thrusters of a space shuttle breaking through the atmosphere. All Daryl can really do is hold on for the ride.

But apparently Rick isn’t going to let him be a passive participant in this kiss, because he starts running his tongue along the seam of Daryl’s lips, sliding one hand from Daryl’s cheek to his neck and laying his fingers flat against Daryl’s pounding pulse, and Daryl lets out a soft moan that has the side effect of allowing Rick entrance into his mouth. Rick slips his tongue inside, laying claim to every inch of Daryl’s mouth like it’s the New World and Rick is a fucking conquistador, only Daryl _wants_ to be conquered and he clamps down viciously on the small part of himself that keeps trying to remind him that this isn’t what this is.

“Jesus, Daryl,” Rick whispers against Daryl’s lips during a natural break in the kiss. “I can taste myself in your mouth.” He slides his lips down to Daryl’s neck, brushing over the pulse point, and Daryl’s eyes roll back in his head and his eyelids flutter at the open-mouthed, wet kisses Rick presses to his sensitive skin.

“Like it,” Daryl mutters when he remembers how to speak. “Like tasting you.”

Rick laughs, a breathless sound. “You gonna let me taste you this time too?”

Daryl pulls away a little and brings his own thumb up to his mouth, nibbling on the cuticles there as he looks down. “Little late for that,” he mumbles.

“ _Shit_ ,” Rick says, looking down between them and moving his hand to cup Daryl through his pants. Daryl hisses softly at the contact, still sensitive from his climax, and Rick grins as he feels the wetness through the front of Daryl’s jeans. “You really _do_ get off on this.”

“Shut up,” Daryl grumbles. He pushes Rick’s hand away and scrambles to his feet, intent on escaping before his stupid heart gets any more confused, but Rick catches his wrist before he can scamper out of the room.

“Stay with me,” Rick says. His eyes on Daryl’s are intense, brooking no resistance, and so instead of yanking his arm free and bolting down the stairs, Daryl hesitates.

“Why?” he asks, quietly.

Rick’s brow furrows. “Because I want you here.”

Daryl looks away, biting at his thumbnail again. “Ain’t what this is.”

“Then what is it?” Rick asks him.

“It’s…” Daryl trails off, shakes his head. “It was supposed to be just… makin’ you happy. Keepin’ you relaxed.”

“Okay,” Rick says, speaking slowly and ducking his head to force eye contact with Daryl. “Then you staying here with me will make me happy. Relaxed.”

Daryl sighs heavily. “Rick. I can’t.”

“Why not?” Rick’s voice is incredibly quiet, almost fragile, and it breaks Daryl’s heart to hear it.

Surely one night won’t hurt, Daryl thinks. He sighs and moves his hand up to rub his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “No reason,” he says after a moment. “I’ll stay tonight.”

Rick’s face breaks out into another one of those high-octane smiles, the ones that Daryl fucking _lives_ for even if he hadn’t noticed it before tonight, and Daryl knows that he’s well and truly fucked.

Daryl shrugs out of his clothes, using a clean corner of his boxers to wipe himself off, then slips into the bed, sliding between the covers and stretching out. He hasn’t had a bed since the prison, not really, and this one is soft and already warm with Rick’s body heat, and then Rick is lying down beside him, curling his body against Daryl’s and draping his arm over Daryl’s stomach.

“Don’t leave,” Rick says, and Daryl wraps an arm around the other man’s shoulders.

“I won’t,” he says, wondering if he’s talking about tonight or forever or both.


	4. Flight Response

By the time the first rays of sunlight start filtering in through the window, Rick is pretty sure that he’s in love with Daryl.

And more than that, he’s pretty sure that this is not a new development, that he’s been in love with Daryl for ages now and just hadn’t noticed. Or at least that he hadn’t let himself think about it in those terms. Because this warm feeling in his stomach isn’t new. The sense of _mine_ isn’t new. And the previously inexplicable urge to kiss Daryl’s nose that had come over him at odd times over the last few months is suddenly, well, explicable.

Rick Grimes is in love with Daryl Dixon.

He tries that thought out again and likes the way it feels as it tickles his brain like a luna moth fluttering around in his skull. He’s in love with Daryl. _He_ is in _love_ with _Daryl_.

Yes, he can get used to that. He can get used to a lot of things, like the way Daryl’s shoulder feels under his head. Like seeing leather vests discarded on his bedroom floor. Like having someone to come home to.

Not that he hasn’t had someone to come home to all along. Everybody knew--even Rick and Daryl themselves, surprisingly enough--that it was just a given. Rick would come back from a run and check on his kids, then immediately make a beeline for Daryl under some flimsy excuse like asking about the traps or finding out where Daryl thought they should store the creamed corn they’d found. And Daryl would do the same thing when _he_ came back from hunts or runs--check on Rick’s kids and then seek Rick out like a bloodhound on a trail.

God, Rick thinks, they’re not even “Rick’s kids” anymore. They’re “Rick and Daryl’s kids” now, and they would be even if the two men weren’t currently curled up naked in bed together. Rick wouldn’t be surprised if Judith started calling Daryl “dad” without being told to, just because she assumed he must be. Rick is delightfully okay with this.

He smiles to himself and tilts his head to kiss Daryl’s shoulder. “Good morning,” he murmurs into Daryl’s skin.

Daryl doesn’t answer for a few seconds, but Rick can hear the archer’s heartbeat speeding up, pounding rabbit-fast in his chest. “Mornin’,” he mumbles after a bit.

“Sleep well?” Rick asks, even though he knows that _Daryl_ knows that _he_ knows that Daryl hadn’t slept a wink all night. He can easily chalk that knowledge up to everyone’s sleeping arrangements since the world ended--even before tonight’s naked snuggling, Rick and Daryl had spent a lot of nights sleeping in close proximity to each other for safety reasons, and by now Rick knows the difference in how Daryl sounds when he sleeps as opposed to how he sounds when he’s faking it, and he has totally valid platonic reasons for knowing that difference. Not that this is in any way platonic anymore.

Daryl grunts. “Fine.” He shifts a little, moving his body slightly away from Rick, but Rick moves with him and stays pressed up against him. Daryl sighs. “Sorry. About last night. Didn’t know you were waiting up for me.”

“I’ll be more obvious next time,” Rick says, smiling against Daryl’s chest. “And don’t worry about it. You came. That’s what matters.” Daryl sputters a bit, his breathing speeding up, and Rick chuckles. “I mean you came upstairs. But the other, too.”

There’s a long pause, then Daryl asks, “You gonna make fun of me about that, Grimes?” His voice is tight, hesitant, and it sort of breaks Rick’s heart to hear him sounding so uncertain.

“No. Never.” Rick lays his hand flat on Daryl’s stomach, then starts slowly tracing the muscles there, taking care _not_ to follow the courses of the scars because he doubts Daryl will want attention called to them. They’ll talk about them one day, but not today. Not when Daryl’s whole body is going board-stiff and tense, and not in a sexy way.

Except… sort of in a sexy way. Most of Daryl is tensing up out of--something. Nervousness, maybe? Rick isn’t exactly sure. But _part_ of Daryl is starting to go board-stiff in a completely different way, and Rick longs to just wrap his hand around it and make Daryl moan. But he won’t do that, not when Daryl is so uncomfortable, so he leaves his hand well north of the border and just keeps moving his fingers slowly over Daryl’s skin.

“I wonder why we haven’t run into any tigers,” Rick says, murmuring the words out in what he hopes is a soothing tone. Anything to get Daryl’s mind off the physical intimacy, anything to make the man stop over-thinking things like Rick can practically _hear_ him doing.

It works. Daryl lets out a surprised little huff of laughter. “Tigers?”

“There were zoos, before,” Rick says. “I mean… with the Walkers being so dangerous it makes sense why the elephants and the gazelles got taken out pretty quick. But you’d think some of the tigers woulda made it. Climbed out through a torn-down fence and started hunting deer.”

“Hunting _us_ , you mean,” Daryl grumbles. “Got enough to worry about when we’re out there. Don’t need to have to worry about you gettin’ taken out by a goddamn tiger on top of everything else.”

Rick pauses, circles Daryl’s belly button with his thumb. “Just me?”

Daryl grunts. “Everybody,” he says, then takes a deep breath. “But yeah. Mostly you. Well, you and Carl and Judith.”

Rick smiles and tilts his head to kiss Daryl’s shoulder again. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say her name,” he says softly.

Daryl sighs, but it doesn’t sound exasperated or terribly unhappy. “Can’t call her Asskicker forever.”

“You don’t like the name, do you?” Rick asks him. He lets his fingers brush over the line of hair below Daryl’s navel. “Come on. You can admit it.”

The archer’s arm slowly loops around Rick’s back, his hand resting on Rick’s side like a terrified songbird, ready to take flight at any moment. “Had a girlfriend named Judy. Long time ago. Just feels weird.”

Rick’s hand stops moving and he lifts his head to look at Daryl’s face.

“What?” Daryl asks, making a grumpy face. “So fuckin’ surprising that I had girlfriends?”

Rick shakes his head and then lays it back down, this time closer to Daryl’s neck so that Rick can kiss his collarbone softly. “Just never heard you mention one before.”

Daryl shrugs, his shoulder moving against Rick’s head. “Never anyone… important. I wasn’t even really that into it. I mean… I like women. Like ‘em well enough. Like sex well enough, too. Like… men, sometimes. Obviously. But I ain’t never…” He trails off, lifts the hand that’s not on Rick’s side to his mouth to gnaw on the skin around his thumb.

“Never what?” Rick asks after a few seconds of silence.

“Never been… like this,” Daryl says very quietly, then clears his throat and lets out a long breath. “Never been with a man. I mean, I thought about it. Never did it. Never thought it was worth it before.”

“You think it’s worth it now, though?” Rick dares to let his hand move a little lower and Daryl doesn’t seem to notice.

Daryl doesn’t answer for a very long time, then he sighs softly. “Just… like it when you’re happy. When you’re happy, I feel… right.”

Rick kisses Daryl’s collarbone again, parting his lips this time so he can quickly sweep his tongue over the protruding bone. Daryl’s breath catches in his throat, and Rick murmurs, “This makes me happy.”

“Rick--”

“Waking up with you makes me happy,” Rick continues, speaking over Daryl’s objections. “Having my hands on you makes me happy.” He moves his hand the last couple of inches and wraps it gently around Daryl’s erection.

Daryl hisses softly and his nails dig into Rick’s side. “Rick, I don’t know--”

“Do you want me to stop?” Rick says quietly.

There’s a long pause that’s made even longer by the fact that Rick is pretty sure that Daryl isn’t breathing during it. Rick leaves his hand on Daryl’s cock but doesn’t stroke, doesn’t squeeze, just lets the man think it through. Finally, Daryl bites his lip and shakes his head hard, then goes boneless in the bed and lifts his hips just slightly into Rick’s hand.

Rick tightens his grip and gives a long, luxurious stroke that rips a moan out of Daryl’s throat. “Feel good?” Rick asks, tilting his head so that he can see Daryl’s face.

Daryl’s eyes are open, staring at the ceiling like he’s never seen one before. “J-jesus, it’s been so long…”

Rick adjusts his position so that he can put his lips on Daryl’s neck. “How long?” he murmurs into Daryl’s skin, his mouth ghosting over the goosebumps he’s already raised there.

“Fuck,” Daryl gasps out. “I don’t know. Years.” He swallows hard, his throat moving against Rick’s lips, and twists the fingers of his free hand in the sheets beside him.

“You touch yourself, though, right?” Rick asks, letting his voice dip into a lower register and noting the shuddering breath that the change earns from the hunter. Daryl nods, squeezing his eyes shut and thrusting his hips into Rick’s hand. Rick obliges, setting up a rhythm of firm, long strokes and watching Daryl’s face as he moves. “Do you think about me when you touch yourself?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Daryl says, and it’s enough of a _yes_ for Rick.

“I think about you,” Rick continues, speeding up his strokes and twisting his wrist at the end of each one. “Think about how goddamn sexy you are when you’re working. Hunting, tracking, going on runs, whatever. Kept makin’ you lift things at the prison just to watch your arms move.” Which is true, Rick admits to himself. He hadn’t really registered it at the time, but Daryl lifting heavy things had started featuring prominently in his fantasies since the prison. Daryl lifting _Rick_ , particularly. How the hell had he managed to write this off as just a passing attraction for so long?

Daryl moans again, softly, then bites his lip like he’s trying to stay quiet. Rick lifts himself up, bracing his weight on his elbow while he keeps stroking with his other hand, and leans over the other man. “I’m gonna kiss you,” Rick says, and Daryl gasps, his bottom lip flying free of his teeth, flashing white for a second from the pressure of the bite before filling with pink again. Rick leans down and captures Daryl’s mouth with his own, and Daryl whimpers before opening his lips to Rick. Rick slides his tongue into Daryl’s mouth and moans himself as he feels Daryl’s hands thread into his hair, tentative and shaking.

The kiss turns passionate almost immediately, their mouths slotting together like they’ve been practicing this for years, like their lips have known what was going on between them for much longer than their heads have. Rick keeps his hand on Daryl’s cock, stroking and squeezing and letting the whimpered moans guide how he moves, and Daryl’s whole body is shaking against him, his hands out of fear and his hips out of burning lust. Rick pulls back and looks down into the other man’s stunned blue eyes.

“Relax,” Rick whispers, letting his gaze drop to Daryl’s parted lips.

“You ain’t gotta do this,” Daryl chokes out, his hips stuttering upward into Rick’s hand. “Don’t owe me nothin’.”

Rick leans in and runs his tongue along the curve of Daryl’s ear. “I want to see how you look when you come. Want to see the look in your eyes.” He bites down gently on Daryl’s earlobe. “And when you’re done, I’m gonna lick you off my fingers. Taste you. Like you’ve been tasting me.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Daryl hisses, clenching his eyes shut and arching his back off the bed. “Rick...”

“Do it,” Rick practically purrs, his lips brushing against Daryl’s ear. “And think about how next time you come, you’ll be coming in my ass.”

Daryl yells Rick’s name--probably too loudly for a house devoid of white noise where at least five other people are trying to sleep--and spills into Rick’s hand with shuddering breaths that come out almost like sobs. He keeps murmuring Rick’s name over and over, like he can’t form any words other than his lover’s name.

Rick smiles and kisses Daryl lightly, an open-mouthed kiss with enthusiastic lips but no tongue, and Daryl moans into Rick’s mouth and threads his hand back into Rick’s hair. Rick pulls back after Daryl’s body stops twitching with the aftershocks, then meets the archer’s eyes and sucks his own finger into his mouth.

Daryl’s eyes snap into focus, going from a soft gaze of boneless contentment to the way that a tiger watches its prey, and Rick barely has time to blink before Daryl pounces, pushing him flat on his back and crawling over him. He grabs Rick’s hand and flicks his tongue out to run over the man’s palm, lapping up some of the come that Rick hasn’t licked into his own mouth yet.

“Yours is better,” Daryl growls, and he grabs Rick’s hips, yanking him into place with hands that aren’t gentle or tentative or soft, and Rick is so fucking turned on by Daryl’s orgasm followed by this sharp detour into aggressive, predatory Daryl that he almost comes from the first touch of Daryl’s tongue to the underside of his cock.

Using every ounce of his willpower, he manages to hold out for almost a full minute. Almost.

Daryl is the one who moans when Rick starts to come, leaving his mouth on Rick until the last spurts land on his tongue, then pulling off and greedily licking at the slit to tease out any remaining drops of Rick’s seed. Rick watches him do it and starts to laugh breathlessly, a grin practically splitting his face in half. Daryl glances up, his eyes slightly narrowed, then seems to relax when Rick locks gazes with him and keeps laughing softly--clearly in wonder and not at _Daryl_.

“Good?” Daryl asks, slowly crawling back up the bed, hovering over Rick as he moves.

“I love you,” Rick breathes, still laughing, still boneless and awe-struck and just fucking _happy_ , even in the middle of an apocalypse, and the joy washing over him is so powerful that it takes him a few seconds to register that Daryl has gone pale, that he’s scrambling off the bed and looking around wildly at his discarded clothes .

“Daryl,” Rick says, leaning up on his elbows and then struggling into a sitting position. “Wait.”

Daryl shakes his head hard and yanks on his boxers, then grabs desperately at the rest of his clothes and holds them to his chest with one arm. He shoots one panicked glance at Rick and then mumbles something that Rick can’t quite hear, grabs his crossbow, and runs out into the hallway. Rick hears his footsteps crashing down the stairs and then the heavy sound of the front door shutting.

Rick groans and flops over onto his side, then pulls Daryl’s pillow over his head and tries to block out the sun for a few minutes while he calms his pounding heart. _He’s probably going to Aaron’s_ , Rick thinks, then frowns at the low throb of jealousy that shoots up his spine at the idea of Daryl running away from him to go to another man’s house.

But still. The garage is Daryl’s happy place now, and Rick likes him better there than out checking traps or tromping through the woods where he can get killed by Walkers or Claimers or Termites or wild boars or falling into a well or something. And it’s not like Daryl is _with_ Aaron, because if he was then Rick is sure that he would know about it. So he’ll give Daryl a few hours to tinker with his bike and calm down, and then Rick will go after him.

And, if all goes well, never let go of him again.

//

By mid-morning, Rick has successfully fended off awkward conversations by the people who had heard Daryl yelling his name--including his own son, who is surprisingly okay with the whole thing and who has apparently known that Rick and Daryl were together for even longer than _Rick and Daryl_ had. And the rest of the group all knew by now too and had a lot of thoughts on the matter, thoughts that had been mostly expressed through catcalls and shoulder-claps and eyebrow waggles. Maggie makes a baseball joke and Carol asks if Rick needs a donut pillow and even Eugene congratulates him on his successful copulation, and although Rick had planned to leave Daryl alone until lunchtime, he decides to go for a walk to escape the house. He wanders aimlessly--or what he tells himself is aimlessly--until he comes to a stop in front of Aaron’s house.

The garage door is generally open during the day, and Rick realizes as he walks toward it that the reason he knows this is because he’d been making excuses to walk by it while Daryl was there ever since they got to Alexandria. Watching the archer’s arms move as he worked, his long fingers moving over the chrome motorcycle parts and the motor oil smeared on his cheek… well, Rick hadn’t noticed what those things did to him, but it’s clear now that they’d definitely been doing something. _I’ve been a huge idiot_ , he thinks, then smiles and tries to control his fluttering heartbeat as he saunters up to the garage door.

Daryl’s bike is inside. Daryl is not.

Rick frowns. He’d been _sure_ that Daryl would be here, as irrationally grumpy as the idea had made him. Where else would he have gone? Surely not… _out_. Rick feels a flash of panic shoot down his spine and he looks around wildly like Daryl might be hiding behind an oil can or a spare tire. He isn’t.

“Looking for Daryl?” Aaron asks from behind Rick, and Rick jumps about ten feet in the air.

“Yeah,” Rick says, sheepishly, pawing at the back of his neck to try and fight down the blush gathering there.

“Eric said he saw him going out the gates an hour or so ago,” Aaron says, smiling like this isn’t the worst news Rick has had since they got to Alexandria.

“He went _out_ by _himself_?” Rick says, and Aaron shrugs.

“He’s a very capable hunter,” Aaron says. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Rick narrows his eyes. “You better hope he is.” He turns on his heel and starts stalking back toward his house, but he only gets a few feet past Aaron before his footsteps trail to a halt.

Surely Daryl isn’t… _leaving_. Not for good. Surely not. No, he wouldn’t leave Rick after everything they’ve been through. He wouldn’t leave Carol after finally finding her again. And he especially wouldn’t leave Judith and Carl, not without saying goodbye.

But what if he would? What if he _has_? What if Rick had ruined everything by blurting out things Daryl wasn’t ready for?

It wasn’t like Daryl was particularly comfortable in Alexandria anyway. Rick had practically begged him to stay, to try, and he’d thought that Daryl had finally decided to give this place a chance, especially since Aaron and Eric and the bike and something about spaghetti, and so Rick hadn’t worried too much about it in the last few days. And especially not in the last twenty-four hours, since he and Daryl had started this... whatever it is.

But he thinks back to Daryl sleeping on the porch, to Daryl skipping out on Deanna’s party, to the look in Daryl’s eyes when Rick had asked him to try. A look of wariness, of fear, of uncertainty. The look of a wild animal caught in a trap. Daryl didn’t like it here. Daryl only stayed for their kids. Daryl would already be long gone if Rick hadn’t wanted him to stay, and now Rick has fucked everything up by spooking him.

Rick feels his eyes going glassy again, the way they had before when Daryl had walked away with Merle, and his gut turns to stone. Cold, churning stone. He has to find Daryl, to bring him home. He can’t do this without him. He doesn’t even _want_ to do this without him. He doesn’t ever want to wake up alone again, not now that he knows what it feels like to wake up with his head on Daryl’s chest. Rick takes a deep breath and turns around.

“Aaron,” he says, then practically jogs back toward the other man. If he’s going to get Daryl back, convince him to stay for good, this might have to be a rather grand gesture. One that Aaron can… explain. “Don’t you dare laugh,” he warns, narrowing his eyes slightly at the other man.

“Motherfucker,” Aaron says, rubbing his eyes with his thumbs. “Not again.”

//

Rick checks out rifles for himself, Glenn, and Abraham, and they head for the city gate. Once the gates click shut behind them, Rick turns around and jogs off into the woods, heading for the abandoned house where he and Daryl and Carol had met in secret before. It seems as good a place as any to start.

Glenn and Abraham follow behind him, keeping pace easily even though Rick keeps speeding up until he’s pushing his own personal speed limits, moving through the woods at a full-on sprint. When they’re almost in sight of the house, Rick grinds to a halt and the other two men nearly crash into him. He holds up a hand and they all crouch to the ground.

“Okay,” Rick says. “If he’s there… I want to talk to him by myself.”

Glenn raises an eyebrow and Abraham just stares at Rick with a confused frown. “Okay,” Glenn says after an awkward moment of silence while Rick waits for a response.

“And, um…” Rick rubs at the back of his neck again. “We might be a little distracted while we talk. So I’m gonna need you guys to guard us, okay?”

The two men nod. Glenn’s eyebrow is still up.

Rick sets his jaw for a moment, then nods to himself decisively. “And it’s probably best if you’re, you know, out of earshot. And, uh, probably with your backs turned.” He nods again. “Okay. I’m gonna go talk to him.”

Glenn looks at Abraham. Abraham sighs and shoulders his own rifle, and as Rick stands up and walks toward the house, he hears faintly from behind him: “Gay sex. Mother dick.”


	5. Long Live the King

The only other time it had happened was five years ago.

It wasn’t anybody’s fault, or at least that’s what they told the police when they arrived to find Daryl beating the shit out of a guy named Happy, tears that he’d never admit to streaked down his cheeks. Merle was unconscious by then, the rag Daryl had tied around his leg soaked with the blood he’d been trying to slow. But he was alive, and through the wonders of modern medicine, he stayed that way.

But what Daryl remembers the most about that day was Merle looking him in the eyes and mumbling _I love you, baby brother_ while the blood poured out of the accidental gunshot wound on the older Dixon’s leg, the wound he’d gotten when Happy had started waving his gun around with the safety off like a dumbass.

And then Merle had passed out, so Daryl hadn’t had to deal with whether he should say it back, and by the time Happy had come charging back in with an EMT team, Daryl had switched from grief to anger and wasn’t thinking about it much anymore. Pretty much the only reason he’d still been able to tell Beth that he’d never been to jail was because Happy had decided not to press charges after Daryl laid into him with knuckles and fingernails and steel-toed work boots while the paramedics worked on Merle in the background.

And so the only other time when Daryl had heard those words directed at him was because a shitty-ass drug dealer had shot Merle in the leg and almost let him bleed out, and that incident had ended up with Daryl in handcuffs. So not exactly the best day of his life, and Merle had never said it again, and _nobody_ has said it to Daryl in a non-platonic way, not once, not ever.

That means that this… this is _huge_. Rick _loves_ him. Which is _terrifying_.

It’s not even that he doesn’t believe it. Rick wouldn’t lie to him, not about this. So Daryl doesn’t spend any time worrying that Rick was just saying it to be polite, or that it was just the orgasm talking, or that he was mentally adding a _bro_ to the end of it. Rick loves him. Daryl really honestly has no idea _why_ Rick loves him, but he believes it.

And it’s not even that Daryl doesn’t return the feeling, because the instant the words had spilled out of Rick’s mouth, all of Daryl’s swirling thoughts--about ancient pagan forest gods and umami flavors and how Rick’s skin felt against him as they lay in bed together pretending to sleep--all of those thoughts snapped into place and suddenly made sense. _Oh, of fucking course_ , he’d thought. _I’m head over fucking heels for this guy_. And that wasn’t what freaked him out, either. Rick loves him and he loves Rick and that’s all fine. It’s not like saying the words really changed anything about the feelings themselves. Those feelings would have been there whether Rick had acknowledged them out loud or not.

No, what sent him running for the hills this morning and what’s keeping him out in the woods right now--even though he’s only wearing one sock and he can feel the stiff fabric of his not-at-all-clean-after-last-night boxers grating against his crotch--is the sense of _expectation_. Rick will expect things from him now. Not even big things, like sex and return confessions of love and promises of forever. Those things Daryl can deal with. After all, the sex has been pretty phenomenal so far and he’s pretty sure Rick’s going to have to get out the water hose at some point to keep Daryl’s mouth off of his cock for five minutes at a stretch. The return confessions… scary, but he can do it. He’s a Dixon. He’s tough. He can say the words. And the promises of forever are like the feelings themselves: it’s not like this changes anything. Daryl already committed himself a long time ago to spending the rest of his life by Rick’s side, and he’d do that whether they were lovers or just friends. Rick is Daryl’s everything and he’s known that for months. That’s fine.

But Rick will expect other things. Regular showers, for one, although Daryl can get used to that. It wasn’t like he’d been opposed to them in the before-world, back when he could take them in his own bathroom in privacy without having to worry about his family being eaten in the next room while he was too busy singing the Rubber Ducky song to save them. So now that they’re in a relatively safe place, he can get back in a regular showering pattern again, especially if he gets to suck Rick off in the bathroom sometimes while the water cascades down the man’s skin. Frankly, that thought makes him almost want to rush back to Alexandria and take a shower _right the fuck now_.

So showers are okay. But other things are harder. Touching in public. Kissing goodbye before runs. Remembering to make coffee before he leaves the house in the mornings. More parties like Deanna’s, where Rick will want to loop his arm around Daryl’s waist and say things like, “This is my boyfriend, Daryl Dixon,” and Daryl will have to smile and laugh and be _sociable_. Because the skittish feral cat that circles the city walls can get away with things that the life partner of the local constable can’t, things like just not going to parties. Things like sleeping on porches when the house is too claustrophobic. Things like disappearing into the woods for days until he can hear himself think again.

He’ll give all of that a try. For Rick. But he’s terrified that he won’t be able to do it, that he’s been wild for too long to ever really be an inside cat again, not that he ever really was one to begin with. And Rick means it _now_ , loves him _now_ , but if Alexandria works out then it’s going to be different. They’ll have to be a _couple_ instead of just brothers-in-arms, and there will be things that society expects of them. And he’d been shit at that sort of thing even before, which is why none of the girlfriends he’d had--not that there were _that_ many of them--had ever stuck around long enough to get serious. As a matter of fact, he’d never even made it to the _meeting the parents_ stage of any of his relationships. He just wasn’t the kind of guy that good people wanted to parade in front of their families. And that had always been fine before.

But the only thing worse than never being with Rick is being with him but someday catching that _look_ on his face when he thinks Daryl isn’t looking. The look he’d given to Lori back on the farm. The look that means _it’s not working out but I don’t know how to stop it_. Because Rick had stuck with Lori until the bitter end even though he’d started to hate her, and even now he’s still wearing their wedding ring, so Daryl expects that it would be the same for him. Rick wouldn’t give him up, ever, not after they’ve made promises to each other.

And it all boils down to that--Rick will stay with him indefinitely if Daryl asks, even if the day comes when he doesn’t _want_ to stay. And Daryl just isn’t sure he’ll ever have the willpower to walk away from Rick if they start this thing, even if he can tell Rick wants him to. No, he’s selfish and he’s greedy and he’ll stay with Rick until they stick one of them in the ground. And so this thing is going to be forever no matter what, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, in times when they happily make love in the candlelight or some shit and in times when Rick wants to pinch Daryl’s nipples off for being a pain in the ass. Because those times will come.

But then again, Daryl thinks as he sits down with his back against a tree and his crossbow leaning against his knee, that’s sort of how it is with everybody. That’s the point of the whole speech. For richer, for poorer, forsaking all others, as long as they both shall live.

 _Til death do us part, motherfuckers,_ Daryl thinks, and he smiles a little to himself at the thought of how his mama’s pastor would have reacted to someone saying that in a ceremony.

Not that he and Rick will have a ceremony. Hell, they’re not even _dating_ yet, Daryl tells himself. It’s too early to be picking out colors and making little baggies of rice and oh god, he really shouldn’t start thinking about how cute Judith would look in a fluffy blue dress because of _course_ they’d wear blue, probably the color of Rick’s eyes, and where the fuck are they going to find tuxes that fit in the goddamn apocalypse anyway? Is there a tailor in Alexandria?

Jesus, he needs to stop. Twenty-four hours ago he was single and had never given a blowjob and now he’s given _three_ of them and is already mentally planning out a fucking _wedding_ with a man he’s not even dating who he’d quite literally run away from directly following their first night together. It’s _insane_ to be thinking about these things this soon.

And yet…

And yet. Here he is. Thinking about it.

So why is he sitting out here in the goddamn woods when he could be having breakfast with his family? An awkward breakfast, sure, since Daryl is about ninety percent sure that he'd woken people up this morning when he just fucking screamed Rick's name like an auctioneer with a bullhorn after what was, come on, just a little handjob. A fucking amazing handjob, though. One administered by _Rick Grimes_. Daryl can barely believe it. But still. He's going to have to learn to be quieter now that this is going to be a thing. Now that SEX with _RICK GRIMES_ is going to be a thing that happens to Daryl _on a regular basis_.

He needs to get back. Now. And kiss the hell out of the man and apologize for being a skittish dumbass. And tell Rick he loves him back.

Daryl takes a deep breath, straightens his shirt, licks his lips, rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, and counts to six before pushing himself up to his feet and heading back toward Alexandria.

He doesn’t make it far before Rick comes melting out of the trees--he guesses that forest gods are allowed to do that, although apparently they still can’t track for shit and Daryl’s pretty sure you lose your pagan god license if you shave your beard, but then again Rick had said he was going to grow it back for Daryl, for _Daryl_ , just because Daryl had said he liked it, and _Jesus Christ_ Rick is wearing that fucking _shirt_ again, the one that hugs his frame just so, the one that shows off his rather impressive pecs, and Daryl’s mouth goes dry and for a second he can’t remember what words even _are_ , much less how to form some himself.

“There you are,” Rick says, frowning at Daryl.

“I love you,” Daryl says back. _Those_ words he can say.

Rick does a double-take and before Daryl even knows what’s happening, he’s crushed in the other man’s arms and Rick’s tongue is already lodged deep in Daryl’s throat and the uneven roughness he feels against his back is probably the bark of the tree that Rick has shoved him up against. Daryl snakes his arms around Rick’s waist and kisses back with a great deal of enthusiasm, tilting his head for a good angle of attack and giving as good as he’s getting.

“Say it again,” Rick growls into Daryl’s ear after several seconds of passionate kissing. The ex-deputy moves his hands to Daryl’s hips and grinds against him.

Daryl lets out a little grunt of pleasure as he feels Rick already hard against him. “Love you,” he mumbles, nipping at the rough skin of Rick’s jawline and imagining how fucking amazing that jawline is going to feel once it’s got some stubble back on it.

“You can’t go,” Rick says, reaching between them to work on Daryl’s belt buckle. “Not after all this. Not after sayin’ that to me.”

“Rick--”

Rick cuts him off with a hard kiss that Daryl sinks into, fisting his hands in Rick’s shirt and hauling him closer. There will be time later for explanations and clarifications and conversations and all the other ations that starting up a relationship with _Rick Grimes, holy fuck_ will require. But for now, there’s only Rick’s mouth and Rick’s teeth, the perfect curve of Rick’s ass, the bottle in Rick’s back pocket…

Wait.

Daryl pulls back from the kiss just slightly, curling his fingers around the denim covering the small bottle. He guesses that Rick could just be unusually into soft skin all the sudden and carrying around hand lotion or that maybe there were still unexpired 5-Hour Energy drinks that he’d swiped from the communal pantry or that after the awful days just before Alexandria Rick had decided to start carrying around a very small emergency water ration, but this… feels like maybe Rick has followed him into the woods with a very specific agenda in mind. Daryl raises an eyebrow at Rick and tries very hard to look sophisticated, like his internal organs aren’t cartwheeling around in a delicious panic.

Rick flushes and looks down. “Aaron gave it to me.”

A bark of laughter escapes Daryl’s lips before he can hold it back. “ _Aaron_ gave it to you.”

Rick shrugs and presses forward against Daryl again, dipping his head to kiss Daryl’s neck. “Not like you can talk,” he murmurs against the skin there. “He said he taught you how to give head the other day.”

Daryl doesn’t blush, but he figures that’s mostly because all the blood in his body is currently being used for other purposes. Very important purposes. Dick-related purposes. So instead he just grunts and tilts his neck to give Rick better access. “Makes it sound like it was a hands-on lesson,” he grumbles. “Wasn’t.”

The low chuckle that rumbles out of Rick’s throat enters Daryl’s bloodstream and is immediately pumped directly down into his cock, which twitches hard enough that Rick must have been able to feel the movement. “He taught me something too. Something I’d like to try. Right now.”

Daryl tightens his hand over the bottle in Rick’s back pocket, making sure to get a nice handful of Rick’s ass as well. He licks his lips. “How… um…” He trails off, giving Rick’s backside another squeeze because gropes are easier than words.

Rick reaches between them and cups Daryl through his pants, moving his face away from Daryl’s neck just enough to lock eyes with him. “Told you last night how I want it.”

Daryl blinks hard, just once, then slides his hand into Rick’s pocket and pulls the bottle out. He curls his fingers around it and takes a deep breath.

He captures Rick’s mouth with his own again, going for deep and dirty and as hot as a Georgia summer, and Rick moans into the kiss and lets go of Daryl’s cock in favor of fumbling desperately with the fastenings of his own belt, his own jeans.

Daryl twists them around to shove Rick up against the tree, face-first, and Rick grunts at the force behind Daryl’s movements but shivers too, pushing his own pants down until they fall around his feet. Daryl grabs a fistful of Rick’s shirt and hauls it up over his head, tossing it off to the side and then turning his attention to the muscles on Rick’s back as they shift under his skin. Rick’s got a bit of a farmer’s tan, his back a lighter shade of gold than his arms, and that brings back to mind the way Rick had looked swinging a damn hoe in his garden at the prison, and Daryl is pretty sure that it’s totally unfair that one man can be a forest god _and_ a farming god _and_ a sex god all at the same time, but he’ll take it because it’s Rick and because the way Rick’s skin tastes as he runs his tongue over the back of the man’s neck is pretty damn close to fuckin’ paradise.

“Don’t really know how to do this,” Daryl says, flicking the lid of the bottle open and coating his fingers with it. He runs his knuckles down Rick’s spine and smirks a little as Rick lets out a broken moan.

“Just--” Rick starts, breaking off sharply as Daryl’s fingertip brushes over his entrance. Daryl leans forward and mouths along the slope of Rick’s shoulder, and after a moment Rick continues. “Just… go slow. One finger at a time. And then…”

Rick trails off, and Daryl takes pity on him. “Can probably figure it out from there.” He sticks the bottle in his vest pocket so he can have a free hand to reach around Rick and give him a long stroke, his knuckles scraping over the rough trunk of the tree as he pumps Rick in his fist. Rick throws his head back with a loud gasp and Daryl takes advantage of his distraction to slide a finger inside.

Rick grabs the tree, his fingernails gouging into the bark, and Daryl stares down at the man’s ass, watching his glutes flex as Daryl moves his finger slowly. It’s warmer than he could have even imagined and holy _shit_ is it tight, and Daryl’s dick makes a valiant effort to tear through the fabric of his pants to get closer to Rick. Daryl hisses through his teeth and slides another finger in to Rick, shivering at the loud _yes_ that erupts from Rick’s throat.

“‘S okay?” Daryl asks, his voice low and sand-rough and his eyes locked on the place where his fingers are disappearing inside Rick.

“ _Daryl_ ,” Rick gasps out. He thrusts his hips backwards to get more of Daryl’s fingers inside him, and Daryl’s breath speeds up and his cock strains again, pressing against his stiff boxers and the zipper of his jeans so hard that it’s actually painful.

He adds a third finger and Rick all but screams, throwing his head back to rest on Daryl’s shoulder with his mouth open wide, gasping for each shuddering breath. Daryl spends a few more seconds stretching him, then pulls his fingers out and works quickly and desperately on his belt and jeans. It takes longer than it usually would since Daryl’s fingers are slick and shaking, but he manages it, and he shoves his own pants down with one hand while fumbling with the bottle in his pocket with the other. It only takes him a second to slick himself up and then he’s pressing against Rick’s entrance and kissing the man’s neck with trembling lips.

“Daryl,” Rick breathes out. “ _Please_.”

Daryl groans and grabs Rick’s hips, holding him in place as he pushes forward. Rick _does_ scream then, or at least yells, and Daryl pauses for just a second to make sure it’s a good scream and not an _oh, shit, I’ve changed my mind_ scream before Rick pushes his ass back into Daryl even more, his moans turning into very definite _yeses_.

“Jesus,” Rick whimpers, twisting his neck to try and capture Daryl’s lips with his. Daryl tilts his head and they do the best they can, kissing with passion but not a lot of grace, not that grace is what’s important here. Not when Rick is moaning Daryl’s name like he can’t stop and Daryl is buried balls-deep in _Rick Grimes_.

Holy shit.

He thrusts forward, setting up a slow, gentle rhythm at first and then speeding up when he starts noticing that Rick gasps and shivers more the harder he goes at him. Rick adjusts his stance and tilts his hips to a slightly different angle, and whatever he does sends Daryl’s dick straight into a spot that makes Rick’s whole body shudder. _There we go_ , Daryl thinks, and he does his best to keep hitting that same spot over and over.

Rick is a mess, whimpering and begging and shaking, and Daryl slides his hands forward, his fingers dragging over Rick’s sexy-ass hipbones and then closing around the other man’s cock.

It doesn’t take Rick long after that, not with Daryl pounding into his prostate and stroking him with firm, lube-slick hands. Daryl feels his own body starting to tense up, sparks shooting through his veins like embers from a bonfire, and he lets out a strangled whimper as Rick’s muscles contract around him. “Come on, Rick,” he gasps into Rick’s ear. “Can’t wait much longer.”

Rick whimpers too, then reaches down to bat Daryl’s fingers away from his cock. Daryl digs his nails back into Rick’s hipbones and thrusts as hard as he can, and Rick yells again at the sudden pressure and comes, his body jerking around and against Daryl, and Daryl slows down for a few seconds, rocking his hips into Rick but not pounding as hard as before.

Rick staggers a bit as the aftershocks fade, then turns his head again and slowly raises his hand up over his shoulder. Daryl’s eyes lock on the come glistening on Rick’s fingers and he moans and lunges forward, licking desperately at the palm of Rick’s hand, sucking Rick’s index finger into his mouth, and when the taste of Rick’s release spreads over his tongue, that’s it. It’s all over. Daryl slams back inside, pulling back on Rick’s hips at the same time to get absolutely as deep as he can, and his cock is pulsing within Rick before the wave of pleasure even makes it to his brain. But when it makes it there… oh, when it makes it there... Daryl knows he’s making some rather embarrassing noises, knows his breath is coming out in sobs, knows that Rick has completely and utterly ruined him for anyone else forever.

When it’s over, Daryl leans his head against Rick’s back for a moment, his forehead resting between Rick’s shoulder blades, then carefully pulls out and tries to control his shaking hands as Rick turns around to look at him with the brightest, clearest, most shell-shocked eyes Daryl has ever seen in his whole life, and Daryl leans forward and kisses him softly. “Let’s go home.”

Rick blinks, his mouth falling open just slightly. “Home?”

“Big fuckin’ white mansion in the damn suburbs,” Daryl says, the corner of his lips quirking upward. “Got a crib upstairs with your daughter in it. Can’t miss it.”

Rick rolls his eyes and smiles back, his chest still heaving with the exertion of their fucking. He pulls his pants up and fastens them, then picks up his shirt and slips it back on. “You’re coming back?”

Daryl nods, fixing his own clothes and staring at the dirt on the forest floor. “‘Course.”

“When I said this morning that I loved you.” Rick watches Daryl’s eyes with renewed seriousness in his gaze. “You left. I thought…”

Kicking at the ground a little, Daryl ducks his head and squints up at Rick. “Thought I didn’t love you back?”

“Thought it was gonna be harder to get you to admit it,” Rick corrects him.

There’s a bit of an awkward pause, then Daryl shrugs. “Well, I love you.”

“Then why were you leaving?” Rick asks, taking a cautious step toward him.

Daryl scoffs. “Wasn’t _leaving_. Just needed a few minutes to think.” He grunts softly, slides his eyes to the ground. “Was on my way back, anyway.”

Rick doesn’t say anything to that, just closes the rest of the distance between them and pulls Daryl into his arms. Daryl sighs into the embrace, burying his face in Rick’s neck and sliding his arms around the other man’s waist. It feels far more intimate than anything else they’ve done so far, more meaningful than the blowjobs or the hungry kisses or even the spectacular sex they’d just had that he can still feel in his knees, and Daryl _should_ freak out about it but he doesn’t want to let go of Rick and so he guesses maybe this is okay, maybe he can get used to this too.

Rick smells like pine trees and the sun and the way that the fog rolls in just before dawn in the Georgia woods, and Daryl drinks him in, memorizes the scent, memorizes how Rick’s muscles shift against him, how safe and warm he feels in the man’s arms. He wonders if Rick is doing the same thing.

“I don’t want you lookin’ at her no more,” Daryl mumbles into Rick’s shoulder, and the words surprise him even as they’re coming out of his mouth. “If we’re doin’ this, then we’re _doin’_ this. And I ain’t in the mind to share.”

Rick pulls away just enough to look Daryl in the eyes, his brow knitted in confusion. “What? Lookin’ at who?”

Daryl grunts and looks off to the side. “Blondie. The Jessie chick.”

“Oh,” Rick says, and has the good grace to look a little ashamed of himself. “I won’t. She was just… a distraction. But I’m not distracted anymore. Not now that I have you.”

Daryl sighs and picks at a spot on Rick’s shirt, staring at his own fingers as they move. “I can’t be that for you, Rick. You know I can’t. Is that… can you…” He trails off and sets his jaw while he waits for Rick to respond.

“What do you mean?” Rick asks, then ducks his head to make Daryl look him in the eyes. “What do you mean, Daryl?”

Daryl huffs out a frustrated breath. “Can’t be… a trophy wife, you know? Can’t wear sundresses an’ bake pies. Could probably cut your hair but I’d be shit at it.” He sighs again and leans forward to rest his forehead against Rick’s shoulder. “An’ now that we’re somewhere civilized, you’re gonna need somebody who can do that shit. Who can go to parties with you an’ shake peoples’ hands an’ be a social fuckin’ butterfly an’ all that. An’ Rick, I’ll try. For you. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do it. It ain’t me.”

“You sure?” Rick asks, running his hands up and down Daryl’s back softly. “You’d look awful cute in a sundress.”

“Shut up,” Daryl says, thumping Rick on the chest, but half of his mouth revolts against the order to keep frowning and tilts upward. “Bein’ serious.”

“It’s you I want.” Rick’s voice is low, intense. “You. Daryl Dixon. Just how you are.”

Daryl slowly raises his head again to catch Rick’s gaze. “An’ that’s gonna be okay with you. If I’m not… you know. Fuckin’ domesticated.”

Rick leans forward and kisses him, a movement of lips that’s soft and sweet and makes Daryl wonder why there aren’t suddenly hundreds of birds singing around them. “It’s fine. You’re perfect.” He pauses, brushes Daryl’s hair behind his ear. “Can’t promise I won’t have to make you go to parties and shake hands every once in a while. But I can promise I’ll be hating it as much as you are and we’ll leave as soon as we can manage it. And I’ll even let you blow me in a closet while we’re there, as an incentive.”

Daryl doesn’t say anything for a long time, leaving his eyes locked on the hollow at the base of Rick’s throat. That doesn’t sound… so bad. He can go to parties and sip champagne and shit if he has to, _sometimes_. For Rick. Especially if there’s closet sex to be had. Finally, he swallows hard and nods. “I can do that.”

Rick lets out a shaky sigh of relief, then holds Daryl a little tighter, digging his fingers in to the archer’s back possessively. “And don’t leave me for Aaron. I’m not in the mind to share either.”

Daryl leans forward and puts his lips against Rick’s neck. “Aaron who?” he mumbles.

Laughing quietly, Rick loosens his arms on Daryl just a bit. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Daryl pulls back slowly, letting his eyes rake appreciatively over Rick’s body as he steps backward. “So what now?” he asks, chewing at his thumbnail. “Oh, shit, we gotta tell Carl.”

Rick chuckles low in his chest and Daryl suddenly wishes that he’d stayed with his head pressed there for a few more seconds just to hear it rumbling against his ear. “Carl knows,” Rick tells him. “ _Everyone_ knows. I think half the house heard us last night.”

Daryl flushes bright red and tears at the skin around his thumb, not meeting Rick’s eyes. “That okay?”

“It’s good,” Rick says. He reaches up and pushes Daryl’s hand away from his mouth, puts his own thumb there against Daryl’s bottom lip. “Can I kiss you again?”

Daryl’s ears are burning and he slants his eyes off to the side because he can either talk or he can look into Rick’s gorgeous baby-blues but there’s no way he can do both. “Ain’t got to ask no more. Least not when we’re alone.”

Rick grins, a lazy curving of the lips, and then he pulls Daryl back into his arms and kisses him deeply, one arm around his waist and one hand on his neck, and Daryl decides that he can get used to this too, to being loved by Rick, to loving him back.

 _You got this, Dixon_ , he thinks to himself, and it occurs to him that this time, he actually does.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Also, comments make me smile so you know... please comment :) 
> 
> If you want to follow me on Tumblr, you can go [here](http://skarlatha.tumblr.com). I don't post as often as I probably should, but I do lurk, so you can message me there too. 
> 
> One more shout-out to my beta, [Michelle_A_Emerlind](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle_A_Emerlind), and my cheerleader, [TWDObsessive](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TWDObsessive). Go read their fics, you guys. Both of them are awesome writers.


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